23rd
Joel attacked me with his razor-sharp nails today and gouged a two-inch chunk out of my face. It happened in the fruit aisle at Sainsburys, and I walked around the store in a daze for a few minutes looking like something out of Friday 13th before glimpsing the facial carnage in the mirror. I actually do look quite disfigured, and I may have to wear a band-aid on my face like my man Nelly.
The little thug tried to pull a mole off my face yesterday - I think Erica put him up to it - and the day before he nearly ended the chances of any future brothers or sisters with an extraordinarily agonising belly-flop from height. Not to mention the spoon in my ear, bite on my calf or finger in my eyeball.
I’m not sure how to respond to this latest onslaught of violence - I don’t want him to think I’m a wimp, so I am trying to tough it out. But then unless he sees that he has hurt me, he will do it to his little friends - some of whom aren’t as hard as me.
I may sign up for a self-defence class at work. And I trimmed his nails.
